Senza Sordino
by idreamof
Summary: For a prompt on common meme . Wes's life is falling apart, and he can't take it anymore. WARNINGS: suicide attempt, discussion of mental illness, language
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Warnings for attempted suicide and language and discussion of mental illness. Written for a prompt on Common meme. I don't own anything you recognize.**

* * *

Wes knows he has issues. Wes knows feeling the panic and intense anger rise up in his stomach whenever someone so much as touches something of his is irrational, but he can't stop it. _This is crazy, _he tells himself. _Stop being so fucking insane, _he thinks. He knows he comes across as a dick (as Travis has told him so many times); he knows he should try to relax once in a while.

It doesn't help.

He doesn't know when ending it all became a viable option in his mind, but somewhere along the way he discovered that telling himself that in a few seconds he could end it _all_ helps. The panic ebbs, the anger fades away. _It could be over. _

The focus turns inward. It becomes the ultimate control. _They treat you like this, but you can make it stop. _

_Stop. _

_You can make it stop. _

At first, the thought only comes to his mind when he's angriest, when he's loneliest, when he's the most upset. It came up every so often right after he quit law, but with Alex…with Alex, and his newfound purpose at the LAPD it seemed to fade away into the background. But then with Alex, and the divorce, and the fighting with Travis, and the insults that seemed to veer away from being friendly and teasing and became harsh and directed, the thought of ending it all popped into his mind more and more often, until it was a constant presence – a permanent reassurance.

_All this could be over. _

_It would be easy. _

He has a gun. He knows what guns can do, but somehow he can't bring himself to do it. And so the thought remains just that – a thought, an idea…a promise.

A promise of escape.

They're fighting. They're fighting, and Wes doesn't know when it started or why it started, but they're arguing, and the words are cold and unfair and he knows that he's said things that he shouldn't have – he knows that they're probably _both_ at fault here, but when Travis brings up Alex:

"Dude, it's no wonder she dumped you: you're a pain in the ass."

Wes loses it.

He takes a flying leap at Travis and tackles him to the ground. They wrestle, and although Wes is smaller than Travis, and Travis has muscle on him, Wes has rage (not hurt – it's rage and absolutely not hurt) on his side, and he manages to maintain the upper hand. He looks down into Travis's eyes, and all he sees is cold blue.

Wes remembers when Travis's eyes would fill with something akin to affection when he looked at Wes – when they weren't just partners, they were friends too. They're nothing together now, and Wes often wonders if maybe they really should just be split up.

_You could leave. It could all be over. _

And then there are hands on him, interrupting his thought, pulling, prying him off of Travis, and back into the grip of one of the bigger guys at the precinct. Wes fights against his hold, but he holds strong, and Wes feels himself deflate. He wrenches himself out of the tight grasp and stalks out the door without another word, and to his car. He drives home in silence.

_Home._ He knows he shouldn't be calling it home anymore, but it will always be home to him. He sees Alex's car in the driveway, but he ignores it and goes straight to the shed to get out the hose, the fertilizer… He's barely even hooked the hose up when Alex comes storming out of the house, her pretty features taken over by anger.

_Everyone in Wes's life seems to be angry nowadays. _

His mind feels hazy. _Too much. It's too much. He can't handle much more. _

His vision blurs. _Tears? He can't even tell. _

Through it all, however, he can hear Alex yelling at him.

_Yelling. Always yelling. There's too much yelling – around him and in his brain and it's loud in his eyes and he can't take it anymore. _

"Wes! You can't keep doing this! I know you haven't moved on, and maybe you don't want to, but I _need to_, Wes, okay? I _need _to move on, and I can't do it if you keep coming around to work on the fucking lawn! I know we share custody of it, but please, _please, _I'm begging you to leave, okay? I need you out of my life, Wes. We're divorced, and I need…"

She's still yelling, but Wes can't hear her anymore. _I need you out of my life. _Her words echo in his head and everything feels muddled, and his brain feels foggy and everything hurts so bad and he can't take it anymore and the thought, _that ever persistent thought, _is back and he can't ignore it anymore.

He leaves the hose and fertilizer where they are and numbly, silently makes his way to his car. He thinks Alex might be crying (thinks that maybe he might be crying too) but he doesn't pay attention. He gets into his car and drives straight back to his hotel, and then makes his way to the elevator. It isn't till he's looking down at the street below that he realizes that he went straight past his floor and made his way to the roof.

It's a long way down.

He feels a drop of water on his face, and thinks that maybe he really is crying, but they aren't his tears. One drop, and then another, and the clouds are showering him with water. Spring rain. Alex loved spring rain. He leans over to look over the edge, and his own tears join the downpour, falling all the way down to the ground below.

Ringing.

At first he thinks that it might be his ears ringing because why wouldn't they be, when everything is so messed up – when everything is falling apart.

When _he's _falling apart.

But no, he realizes when the ringing starts again, it's his phone. It seems strange to him that someone would be calling him because he isn't sure anymore whether the world around him really exists – whether _he _really exists – because he feels so utterly alone, but he absently presses the answer button anyway, and slowly puts it to his ear.

"Hello?" his voice is barely a murmur, but whoever is on the other end of the line must have heard it anyway because he gets a cheery, "Hello, Wes!" in response.

Dr. Ryan.

He says nothing, but it doesn't seem to deter her as she continues on just as happily after a moment of quiet.

"Wes! I'm just calling to remind you that our session has been moved this week because of the renovations at the building – they're repainting, you know – and that we'll be meeting at –"

"No," he cuts her off, suddenly, slightly surprised at himself for having spoken. "Sorry… I … no. No, I won't be making it. Sorry. Sorry Dr. Ryan." He gives a shaky, slightly hysterical laugh.

There's silence on the line for a moment, before a tentative, "Wes?" Wes still says nothing, only laughs again – an eerie, hollow sound – so Dr. Ryan continues. "Wes… are you alright?" Wes just laughs again, and if the laughter turns into harsh, wracking sobs, he doesn't admit it to himself, only hangs up the phone and goes back to looking over the edge again, inching his feet closer to the drop.

The phone rings again, and he answers it purely on impulse, putting it to his ear, but not saying anything.

"Wes," Dr. Ryan's voice is insistent, clinically calm. "Wes, please, _please _tell me where you are." Wes just sobs and Dr. Ryan continues, "Wes, are you at home?" At that Wes laughs again.

"Home? This was never home. It's a _fucking hotel_. Home… I'm never allowed home again. I'm never _going _home again."

"Wes…" Thunder cracks above Wes's head, loud and angry, and Dr. Ryan pauses. "Wes… did I just hear thunder? Are you outside, Wes? Please, Wes, if you're outside, go inside. Go inside, and dry off, and wait in your room and stay put, alright? And I'll come and find you. Alright, Wes?"

Wes still says nothing, and on the other end of the line, Dr. Ryan feels her heart rate jump another notch. Panic is flooding through her veins and only her training and experience are keeping her from completely falling apart. The minute she'd heard Wes's broken laughter she'd hailed a cab and rattled off the address she remembered from his file. Half of her attention was given to pleading with Wes, who still hadn't said another word, and the other half was spent sending frantic texts to Travis, telling him that something was very, _very _wrong with Wes.

Travis is having _company _over when he hears his phone go off. By the fourth buzzing, which is when he figures that he really ought to check it, he has to detach said company from his face with muffled mumbles and a gentle push before reaching to grab his phone.

_Hello Travis! You weren't answering your phone, so I'd just like to remind you that our session has been moved…_

Travis skips to the next line: he knows about the session already.

_Travis, I just called Wes, and he wasn't himself when he answered. It was worrying, and I was wondering if you'd heard from him lately, or knew what was going on. If you're with him, please let me know. _

_Travis, something is very wrong. I'm going to his hotel right now, but I'm just the therapist he's forced to go to once a week; you're his partner, and if he needs help I think he might feel better getting it from you. _

_Travis, Wes says he's at his hotel, but I really do think he's in trouble. Your lack of response has me worried that he's hysterical because something has happened to you. Please reply. _

Travis feels guilt spread throughout his gut at ignoring the first few texts, and also about the fight he'd had with Wes only hours before, and within moments is throwing on clothes and rushing out the door, leaving a spluttering "friend" in his wake.

He speeds down the road on his motorcycle, police lights flashing, cursing the fifteen minutes it still takes him to reach Wes's hotel. After parking his bike, he takes his helmet off and looks miserably up at the angry sky above. The storm had been a while coming, the skies having been angry and dark for days, and it seems to have finally broken out. But as lightening lights the air, Travis catches sight of something even more horrifying: a barely visible, but painfully familiar blond head peering out over the edge of the building.

On the _roof. _

Taking off at a run, he sprints into the hotel, only to find Dr. Ryan at reception, asking for Wesley Mitchell.

Grabbing her shoulder, and not even bothering to wave back at the receptionist who recognizes him, he ushers her towards the elevator.

"_He's on the fucking roof." _

She pales a shade and nods and they ride the elevator in strained silence.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Anything you recognize I don't own. Trigger warning for suicide attempt, discussion of mental illness/depression, and language.

* * *

When they get to the roof Wes is standing on the ledge, his arms wrapped around himself, head bowed downward. Dr. Ryan holds up a hand to Travis, indicating that he should wait, before slowly making her way closer to Wes.

"Wes?" she questions softly, hoping she doesn't startle him, knowing how disastrous that could be. Wes looks up but doesn't turn around. "Wes, please get down from there, alright?"

Wes scoffs, and it's an angry, painful sound.

"Wes," Travis says tentatively. "Wes, buddy, please, please get down from there, alright? Whatever it is, we can fix it, okay? I promise, I swear. We'll get you help, okay? You don't need to do this."

Wes laughs outright at that.

"Wes…" Travis's voice is pleading.

Wes looks back down at the ground, letting his head drop. "I don't need your fucking help."

"Wes," Travis tries again, and walks slowly forward towards his partner, praying that Wes doesn't take that last step. Wes gives him a brief glance before turning his gaze back to the drop.

"Leave me the fuck alone Travis, and I swear if you come any closer I'll jump."

"Okay, okay," Travis holds his hands up and takes a step backward "Whatever you say, man, but _please _get down from there."

"Wes," Dr. Ryan tries, "please… You're a smart man, Wes, a brilliant detective… you have a lot to live for, alright? You don't need to do this. It would devastate _so _many people if you did. Please step back from the edge, Wes."

Wes laughs again, and Travis feels his heart clench at the thought that he hasn't heard Wes laugh so much in ages – but this laugh isn't the light-hearted chuckle of before. This laugh is angry and sad and pained all at once, and _when did Wes turn into this foreign, broken creature?_

Wes looks up at the sky, blinking away the raindrops as they fall onto his upturned face, his mouth still twisted into that bitter grin. "Who?"

Dr. Ryan frowns. "Wes?" she questions.

Wes turns his head slightly in their direction. "Who would it devastate?" It's stated absently, emotionlessly, as if he might as well have been asking _do you think it'll rain today? _

_What? _Travis feels his jaw drop. "Wes… your family –" he manages to get out. Wes shakes his head.

"I haven't said a word to them in ten years," comes the monotonous reply.

Travis feels the grip on his heart tighten. He hadn't known that. Hadn't Wes once said that he was jealous of Travis's foster families? Travis wishes he had paid more attention, wishes he had realized what that might have meant.

"Your friends –" Travis tries again.

"What friends?" Wes asks matter-of-factly.

"Everyone at the precinct – " Travis starts.

Wes scoffs. "Everyone at the precinct sees me as an uptight asshole, Travis. I'm just your freak of a partner. They wouldn't…they wouldn't care if I left. They'd be happy. Crazy Detective Mitchell, anal retentive, obsessive compulsive, can't even be civil with his partner, has to go to couples therapy, _ha-ha._"

Travis can't really believe what's happening. It's unexpected and so, so wrong, but then all the thoughtless comments other officers have thrown at Wes in the past come rushing to him, and his gut twists.

"I'm a pain in the ass," Wes adds softly, and Travis looks up sharply.

"Wes…" And then all the awful things _he's _said to Wes come barrelling into him and he hates himself like he's never hated himself before. He holds himself back from rushing forward, not willing to risk Wes going through with his threat to jump, and tries to keep his voice steady. It wavers anyway. "Wes, man… I never… I'm sorry, okay? I'm so, so fucking sorry, and I… you're not really a pain in the ass, Wes… you're a great partner and you're brilliant and…and I don't appreciate everything you do like I should, alright? I know that. _I _will be devastated if you go through with this, Wes, alright? Please…"

"How many times have you just said whatever you needed to say to get a suspect to do what you want?" Wes's voice is soft, apathetic.

Travis splutters, hating the absolute lack of control he feels over the situation. _His partner is threatening to kill himself. _"Wes… no… Wes… I'm not lying, alright? Please, _please believe me. _I'm not. I swear… I _would _be devastated, and… and Alex, Wes? What would this do to her? You don't want to do this, Wes… you –"

"She's done with me," Wes says softly, and his shoulders slump as if all of his energy has drained out of him.

"What? Wes, man, I know you're divorced, but I _know _you still care about her, and I know she –"

"She doesn't want to see me again," comes the quiet interruption.

"What? Wes, I thought you said you were friends… and –"

"She told me to get out of her life, alright? She said… she said she _needs me out of her life." _Wes's voice grows louder as he speaks, the hysteria building again. "I'm getting… I'm getting out of her life." His tone falls flat.

"God, Wes…" Travis doesn't know what to say or do, other than to make sure to make it known that everyone, e_veryone _needs to start filtering what they say to Wes – because Wes _will _be around to continue speaking to. He hadn't even realized Wes had internalized so much of what had been said to him, and memories of all of their pointless, baseless fights weigh heavy on his mind.

"Wes," Dr. Ryan starts, but Wes cuts her off too.

"And no disrespect meant, Dr. Ryan, but I really don't want to hear any of your psychological crap either. I'm sorry I won't be around to be the _asshole _that you claim you need to stir things up in group, but I really can't do it anymore." Travis frowns at Dr. Ryan, but her eyes are glued to Wes. He hadn't been aware of _that _conversation. He tries to come up with something to say, but Wes isn't done yet.

"I can't do … I can't do _any _of it anymore. I'm tired of being the asshole, and I'm tired of being the uptight, anal one, and I'm tired of trying to follow the rules when nobody else gives a shit, and I'm tired… I'm tired of being alone, and I'm tired of being the one nobody likes and – "

"Wes –"

"_People on ecstasy don't even like me, Travis." _

And Travis cringes, feeling all of two inches tall.


	3. Chapter 3

"You know," Wes says conversationally, "I've been thinking of doing this for _years._"

Travis can feel the tears building behind his eyes, and he stays silent as Wes pauses before continuing again.

"Sometimes it's so, so fucking hard to get out of bed in the morning. And then I go to work where I get yelled at and mocked and… and sometimes I wonder, why bother, you know? Because it's not worth it. And then, once a week, I get to go to fucking _couples therapy, _where I get mocked some more. And in between I get to go back to a fucking hotel room, where I don't even have a goldfish for company." Wes laughs again, and Travis starts crying in earnest. He thinks he never wants to hear that awful laugh again, but he sees two possible outcomes with that result, and one is utterly unfathomable.

"Wes…"

"Shut up, Travis. What – going to tell me that I should just _relax? _That maybe if I was less of an obsessive compulsive asshole, things would be easier? I need to let loose. I need to let it out, isn't that what you said? Let it out, let it out, _let it out! _You know what? Fuck you, Travis. I'm done." Wes is screaming, and Travis finds himself sobbing softly.

For a moment, none of them move.

Then Wes seems to deflate, blowing out his breath and looking back down at the ground again, scuffing his shoe against the side of the ledge.

Travis sees his partner standing on one foot, right at the edge of the roof, and panics. Forgetting Wes's earlier threat to jump should he come any closer, Travis jolts forward, choking out a desperate, strangled "Wes, _please…" _Wes jerks his head upward, and for a mind-numbing moment, Travis freezes, thinking that this is it – it's over – but then Wes turns minutely in their direction, frowning slightly, hearing something in Travis's voice.

"Travis… are you _crying?"_ Travis almost denies it – the rain is hiding his tears – almost goes on the defensive, but he decides that the silence has gone on long enough between them. He decides that their unwritten policy of feigned apathy maybe isn't the best way to go – because where had it gotten them, anyway?

The roof.

He decides that his partner really deserves to finally know, to realize, how he affects people – deserves to know how much his pain is hurting Travis right now.

"Yes."

"You… you never…I…"

Wes's eyebrows furrow downwards, but he says nothing more, so Travis continues, wondering when things had gone so wrong that his partner would be even the slightest bit surprised at his distress at finding him about to commit suicide.

"Wes… Wes I'm crying because you can't do this, man, alright? I'm crying because I really thought you were okay. I'm crying because I hate myself for not noticing that you were in this much pain. I'm crying because I hate myself for making it worse. I'm crying because I don't know what I'll do without you. I'm crying because I wish so desperately that you didn't hide everything all the time, because then maybe we wouldn't be here right now, and I wouldn't be trying to talk you down from jumping off a _building_, Wes. I'm crying because I feel completely useless right now. I'm crying because I had no idea you internalized so much, and that it hurt you so bad. I'm crying because I'm terrified you won't give me a chance to make it better, Wes, because I want to _so bad. _I have a lot of brothers, Wes, you know that, but… man… you're my partner – you're one of them, and I can't lose you like this, okay? Please, please Wes, I'm begging you, please, _please…_" Anything else Travis might have said is lost to sobs.

If Dr. Ryan is proud, despite the situation, she makes no indication of it.

Wes crumples in on himself, wrapping his arms tightly around his torso, ducking his head to his chest, shoulders shaking as he cries, but makes no move to get down from the ledge. When minutes tick by and Wes still hasn't moved, Travis inches his way forward, praying that Wes doesn't take that last step. When he's almost within arm's reach of his partner he murmurs his name again softly, but Wes doesn't react as he'd hoped. Wes tenses, and there's something in his stance that stirs utter panic in Travis. Feeling the adrenaline rush through his veins, he takes a flying leap at him from the side and tackles him to the ground, pulling him immediately into his arms as they roll to a stop.

At first Wes struggles, squirming and pushing at Travis's arms, frantically trying to get free, but Travis is stronger, and at that moment there's nothing Wes could do or say that would make him loosen his grip. Finally, the fight drains out of Wes and he dissolves into heaving sobs, and Travis just holds his shaking partner tighter, burying his face in Wes's soaked blond hair and rocking back and forth as Wes scrabbles for purchase on Travis's leather jacket. "Shhhh. We can fix this. It's going to be okay. Things will be better, I promise. Shhh." Travis hates how tiny Wes feels in his arms – how fragile, how broken. It's several minutes before Travis notices that Wes's teeth are chattering, and that the quivering in his body isn't just from emotion, and he realizes how long Wes must have been outside in the storm without even his suit jacket for protection.

Dr. Ryan holds her respectful distance as Travis pulls Wes up as he stands, keeping his arms tightly around his partner. She will be ready when they need her.

"Let's get you warm, huh bud?" Travis ushers Wes towards the door, with Dr. Ryan following behind. "We'll fix this, okay? You're not alone anymore."

* * *

AN: So that's it, folks. Obviously this isn't something that gets fixed in a day, but that's it for the story. Thanks for reading! This may be continued in the form of little asides/prequel/sequel one-shots, but we shall see, as it depends on how much work/school gets in the way. Thanks again! And if anyone out there ever considers doing something like this, please, please get help from someone - you're not alone.


End file.
